


Fighter

by goldfishlover



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Feral Behavior, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Petstuck, Violence, inspired by UFUT, troll fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishlover/pseuds/goldfishlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your Bro's a pretty cool guy. For as long as you can remember, you've wanted to be just like him. But if there's one thing that bothers you about him, more than his puppets, it's his love of troll fights.<br/>---<br/>A self indulgent fic inspired by coldhope's UFUT. I took the idea of troll fights and ran with it. I wanted to do something a little different from the usual petstuck scene-- there's mentions of troll fighting, and it's pretty heavily discouraged, but I wanted something a bit different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighter

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unwanted Free Ugly Troll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/477092) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Dave's age is never stated in this chapter, but he's about seven.

“Bro, where’re we going?” You ask, grabbing ahold of your big brother’s gloved hand. He glances down at you, staring at you through his comically large pointed sunglasses. You’re equipped with an identical, but smaller pair, courtesy of the local dollar store down the road. They’re still a little big for your face, and they fall down every now and then. You struggle to keep them up as Bro guides you through the unfamiliar crowd. Bro’s shades never fall down. They fit perfectly on his face, like they were meant to be there, or even, like they were a part of his face themselves. As far as you can remember, you don’t think you’ve ever seen what Bro’s eyes actually look like. You wonder for a second what color eyes he has, or if the glasses really are just a part of his face. Probably. Bro’s super cool like that. “Bro?” 

 

“We’re going to see a troll fight, remember? You know, like the one on TV we watched the other night?” Underneath your own glasses, your eyes light up and you grin. “Promised I’d take you with me, didn’t I?” He asks, tugging on your hand to get you moving along. “Fight’s gonna start any minute now, kid, come on we gotta hurry.”

You nod vigorously, almost knocking your glasses off your face. You know you should get a smaller pair, but you want to be just like Bro. And if that means wearing glasses that are too big for your head and struggling to keep them on, then so be it. Besides, you’ll grow into them one day. Bro says it’ll take a while for that to happen, but you know if you eat good, you’ll grow up just like him. You end up having to take you glasses off while Bro leads you to the ring. There’s a lot of people around you, bumping into you, knocking them down, and it’s hard to keep up when you’re constantly fixing them. Shades in hand, you start thinking about the troll fight that you saw on TV.

It was cool. Everything about it was cool. Not as cool as Bro, but still pretty damn cool. It was a lot like wrestling, for people, but there were aliens and it was real. None of the fake bullshit with chairs and ladders, like you and Bro used to watch before troll fights came on TV. No, this was honest to goodness fighting. And it was a bloodbath. An awesome, colorful bloodbath. 

When you get past the majority of the crowd, and you’re both in the room with the big ring, you’re a little disappointed to see that it’s not the cage like on TV. Bro told you that you couldn’t go to the place that was on TV, and even though you knew where you were going wasn’t the same, it didn’t stop you from being a little disappointed. Instead of a caged in arena area, there was just a big metal fence bolted into the ground in the general shape of a big circle. Around that was a lot of wires. 

“Bro? What are the wires for?”

The room’s situated sort of like a theatre, with seats all around the fence in the middle. Some are closer to it than others. The further away, the higher up the seats are, making it harder to see. You’re lucky Bro snagged some awesome spots right in the middle, where nobody was in the way. Bro helps you into the seat beside his and explains, “It’s so the trolls don’t get out. They’re pretty fucking strong, and they could break the fence. See, some of those wires are barbed and they’ll tear the fucker up if it gets out. And some of the wires will shock it. We’re pretty safe right here though, kid.” He ruffs up your head, messing up your hair. He’s the only one you’ll let touch your head, even if it does annoy you a little when he does. 

“When’s the fight gonna start man?” You ask, more than a little impatient. For all the rush, they’re sure taking their sweet time in bringing the trolls out. You want to see them in person, and you want to cheer one on, just like Bro. 

“Give ‘em a few minutes, kid, damn. Gotta give them a big pep talk before the fight. If we was on TV right now, it’d just be a commercial before the show. Use your head.” You nod in acceptance. Of course. Why didn’t you think of that? “Hey, kid, put your glasses on. Ain’t nobody gonna go knocking ‘em off your head anymore.” Bro takes your shades from your hand and he puts them on for you. “There you go, now you look like a Strider, kid.” Again, he ruffles your hair, and this time, you laugh. Bro’s the best. 

He put your glasses on just in time. You can’t sit still when the trolls finally came out. They’re bigger than on the TV. It doesn't do them any justice; they’re huge! “Bro! Bro look at that one, he’s like a bull!” You point to the troll in the ring. He’s big and tall and buff, much more so than Bro. He has massive horns, candy corn horns, jutting from the sides of his head, like a big mean bull at a rodeo. But for as big and mean as he looks, the troll doesn’t look all that interested in fighting. He looks more scared than anything. “He’s cool looking!” You say excitedly, hoping your brother shows the same amount of interest as you.

“I wouldn’t bet any money on that one.” Bro says coolly. He knows what he’s talking about; he always does. “Too scared lookin’, see? He’s shaking.” Bro points out how the troll is shivering, and sure enough, when you move your glasses, you can see a little better. “My money’s on the other one. Look at ‘im!”

You turn your attention to a second troll, coming in on the other side of the fence. This one’s taller. Not quite as bulky, but still no less intimidating. His horns are smaller, and one’s broken. Though he’s a little far away, you can tell some of his teeth are broke too. He’s covered in scars, born from past fights most likely. Bro’s right. This guy’s a winner. He’s not scared like the other one. He looks ready to fight, and something tells you that if he could break out of the ring, he’d do it in a heartbeat. The thought’s a scary one, and for a minute, you squeeze Bro’s hand. “We’re safe here, little buddy.” He reminds you, feeling the squeeze. Right. The wires would tear the fuckers up. And shock them too. You’re safe. But it still doesn’t feel right.

Just like on TV, the fight doesn’t last long. A few punches from the scarred one, and the troll with the bull horns starts trying to get out. You can see where the wire fence is shocking him, when he sticks his hands out. It’s almost funny, but it’s more sad than anything. This isn’t like on TV. The bull troll isn’t even trying to fight back. The taller one, with the broken horns and teeth and the long hair, is doing all the fighting. He’s covered in sweat, even though it’s not very hot in the room. You ask Bro why that is, but he just says it’s a troll thing. 

The troll with the broken horn ends up cornering the other one. He’s got him huddled in the floor against the fence, covering himself with his hands in a painfully human gesture of surrender. Amidst the surrounding crowd’s yelling, you swear you can almost hear the troll crying. You have to stand up in your seat now, to see what’s going on. Everyone else around you is standing, even Bro, trying to see what’s going on just a little better. Broken horn is kicking bull horns, and he’s not letting up. Even after a coppery brown liquid stains his foot and the floor around him, he keeps going. The color of the other troll’s blood seems to make him angrier. 

You’ve never seen a troll with brown blood before. They mostly show purple and blue blooded trolls on TV. Bro says they make for better fighters. They’re bigger, badder, and stronger. “You know kid, I’m surprised they even let the brown blood fight. Kind of a sick joke.”

“Why’s that? Is brown blood not good?” You ask. The fight’s coming to an end, and you can bear to take your eyes away. Bro’s not paying much attention anymore, so it must not be that important. More than that, you’re a little scared to look. You don’t like what you see. It’s different than on TV. It’s more real. It’s scarier. 

Bro makes a face and shakes his head. “Hell no! Not for fighting. He probably would’ve made a better pet.”

“You can keep trolls as pets?” You’re shocked. You’ve only ever seen trolls in fights and on TV. You didn’t think people could actually keep them as pets; you thought they were too dangerous. You glance over at the brown blooded troll, lying, twitching every so often, in a pool of his own blood. His horns are cracked, and the tip of one is broken. His face looks puffy, and more brown is leaking from his nose and mouth. He’s a mess. You wonder if he could’ve been someone’s pet before the fight. If all those times he stuck his hands out the fence only to get shocked, he was reaching out for his owner, trying to get back to them. The thought makes you a little sad, but you don’t dwell on it. Bro isn’t dwelling on it, so neither should you. But damn, you can’t help it. You keep looking back at the troll, and you can tell he’s hurting. 

“Yeah. Had a buddy that had a troll once. Got it as a grub from a pet store… We’ll go check ‘em out after this. How’s that sound?”

You look back at the loosing troll on the ground in the ring. He’s uncomfortable to watch. His legs aren’t moving anymore. He’s scared. The bigger troll kicks him again, earning a painful, piercing yelp from his victim. You close your eyes and look away. You’re thankful your shades cover most of your face, hiding your discomfort. Bro isn’t fazed, and that means you shouldn’t be either. Ordinarily, you would’ve been excited by the thought of going to the pet store. But you don’t want anything to do with trolls now… Not after seeing the brown blood get beat into the ground. “No. I want to go home. Can we go home after this, Bro?” 

He’s surprised. Normally, you dread going home. There’s nothing wrong with your house. It’s a nice place; got a cool view of the city, since your up on a pretty high floor in your apartment building. But for as nice as it is, it’s lonely as hell. And Bro’s puppets, numerous as they are, just aren’t good company. So it throws him off when you don’t want to go somewhere else. “What’s the matter ‘lil buddy?” He asks, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You not like the fight?”

You rapidly shake your head, not wanting to entertain that thought for even a second. “No! No, I like it! This is fun!” You protest, still shaking your head. Your glasses are starting to fall off again and you can’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. You’re crying for the hurt troll. You can’t help it. You’re crying because you’re not being like Bro. You can’t help it. You’re crying because you don’t want to cry. You can’t help it. 

Bro sees right through you. “Dave.” He says. “Dave, let’s go.” 

“No, I’ll stay! I want to!” You’re not lying. You want to stay, but not because you want to see the fight. You’d rather ignore that, if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself. No, you want to stay because you know Bro does. You know he wants to, because he paid a lot of money to come here; he told you so in the car on the way. Troll fights weren’t cheap. 

“Dave.” 

You take off your glasses to rub your eyes and wipe away the tears. Bro never cries. The fact that you are just reminds you how much cooler he is than you, and that makes you cry just a little more. “I want to stay. And then I want to go home.” Be assertive, be confident, be cool. Just like Bro. “I’m fine.” You insist. You wipe away the remaining tears and put your glasses back on to cover your eyes, effectively hiding the majority of your face. The persistent little frown and the tear stains running down your cheeks don’t go away, but Bro overlooks them, so you can too. 

“Dave. The fight’s over kid. It’s time to go home.” Bro says, taking your hand. 

"I thought there was another fight," You protest, remembering him talking about there being more than one fight. You don't want to watch it, but you know Bro does, so you want to stay.

"If it's gonna be anything like this one, I don't think I wanna stick around. Come on, I'll take you home." 

Reluctantly, you agree and hop down from your seat. It's a bit of a struggle getting out; there are people in the way, shooting discouraging looks at you and Bro. You figure they're mad because you're leaving, you're getting in the way of their view. You didn't think for a second that it was because you shouldn't have been there in the first place. Bro wouldn't take you somewhere you didn't belong, not in your eyes. 

 

The car ride back home is silent. You're sitting in the passenger seat beside Bro, staring dejectedly out the window, watching birds and buildings go by. Traffic isn't bad this hour, so Bro drives fast. "You think that troll is gonna be alright?" You ask after a little while. 

"The brown blood?" He asks. You nod. "Ehhhhh... probably not. If it's not dead yet, it's probably paralyzed or something. It's owner will probably put it down. If it's okay, I don't think it's gonna fight again. Owner might turn it into a bait toy for little ones. It'd be good practice. Why? You worried about it?" 

"No." You lie. 

Silence again. 

"Bro what's a bait toy?" 

"A troll that won't fight. Lot of people use low bloods. Rust and yellow and brown... pet trolls. People sick them with the little ones so they can get a taste for blood. It makes them better fighters." He's so nonchalant about it, like it's no big deal. You on the other hand are appalled.

"Doesn't it hurt them?" 

Bro shrugs. "Well yeah. Use your head! What do you think? You think getting torn apart is gonna feel good? Use your head kid, think before you ask stupid shit." 

You cringe, not because he yelled at you -no that happens often enough you don't pay it any mind. You cringe at the thought of the troll being left to die. It didn't sound right. The fights were fun to watch on TV, because they didn't seem real there. It was easy to look at it then and forget that it was very real and there were consequences for it. Past the music and bright lights, it all made you a little sick to your stomach. "Does it bother you any at all?"

Bro doesn't turn his attention towards you this time. He keeps his eyes steadily focused on the road ahead, and he waits a long time before answering, like he's trying to think of what to say. "They're trolls Dave. Fighting is what they do. They're not people. They don't care if they get hurt. Why are you getting so worked up over this?" 

This time, you don't answer. Arguing with Bro never gets you anywhere, so you don't. But that doesn't mean you agree with what he says. For the first time in your life, you decide you don't want to be just like Bro.


End file.
